


Suggestio Falsi

by asphyxeno



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alcohol, Bathing/Washing, Comedy, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, M/M, Murder Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, beer kiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22838548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphyxeno/pseuds/asphyxeno
Summary: Geralt investigates a string of deaths that are somehow linked to the local ruler, a Baroness with her eyes set on Jaskier. To avoid becoming the latest victim in a long line of lovers, Jaskier embraces a rumor about himself and a certain witcher.Murder Mystery meets Fake Dating
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 84
Kudos: 469





	1. No One Plans for an Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Geralt almost choked, and it had nothing to do with the bard's loving arms around his neck. "'Lover'? Jaskier, what the hell-"_

The first thing the witcher noticed, as anyone else would have, was that the young man's head was missing.

The corpse lay face first - if he’d had a face - in the stables. He had no clothes, though interestingly, he'd been left his boots. The hay around it was stained with blood, mud, and other unpleasant things one might find in a place meant for horses. In short, it was miserable place to investigate a murder, and yet it was exactly that which Geralt found himself doing.

Squatting down beside the body, Geralt took note of what information he could glean from his observations. For example, while the hay showed some signs of blood, there wasn't nearly enough to match the wound. The body had clearly been deposited there after the head - which was nowhere to be seen - had been severed elsewhere. What had caused such a severance was unclear. The flesh of the neck was not cleanly cut. It was jagged, as if torn or ripped off by some great force. It didn't appear to be the work of a blade nor did it look like something had bitten or gnawed it off. Something had torn the man’s head from its body and it would have taken a lot of strength to achieve it.

Geralt leaned in to take in the less obvious injuries. Minute scratches, as though from fingernails littered the man's back. Blossoming bruises, clearly love bites, littered his shoulders, implying he must have had a very good time indeed shortly before his death. Judging by the state of decay, he'd been dead at least a few days, if not a week by the time he'd been dumped unceremoniously among the straw and filth outside an inn. More suspiciously, he noticed bruises along the man's arms and wrists, flesh rubbed raw, like the welts left after being bound for a long and rough period. He'd clearly struggled, given the state of the skin.

Geralt turned the body over and grimaced at the sight of skin caked in mud. He wouldn't be able to tell much of anything from that side. The least he could say was that there were no further observable wounds. No disembowelment or lacerations of any kind - as far as he could see through all the filth.

So, to summarize, the victim had been bound, his head ripped off, and he'd had sexual relations shortly before the time of death. He had to have died several days ago, and on top of that, the body had been moved. In addition, the head had yet to turn up, if it ever did.

The witcher stood, finding no more could be learned from the corpse. He turned away to exit the stables, unaffected by the gruesome scene he'd just examined.

"Master witcher," greeted the innkeeper gravely as Geralt waved from the building's threshold. The innkeeper had hired Geralt to investigate, as he and his wife were the parents of the victim. They were clearly stricken with shock and grief at their recent loss. It would take time for them to fully absorb what had become of their child. Unsure of what else to do with himself, the innkeeper was wiping mugs with a rag, attempting to busy himself. From what Geralt could tell, it was the same mug he'd been working on before he'd gone out to the stables. The innkeeper set the glass down. "Well?" he prompted further, heading out of the inn so as not to be subjected to the gazes of his customers. "What did you learn?"

"A lot," said Geralt, stepping back so the innkeeper could step outside. "Too much to narrow it down without more to go on. Mind if I ask you some questions about your son?"

"If it will help find what... What did this... Anything."

"For starters, what did he do for a living?" Geralt found a direct approach was often the best way to get the truth. Tiptoeing around topics hardly ever got him honest answers. "Anything dangerous? Maybe a logger or fisherman?"

"Hardly," answered the innkeeper. "He's a kitchen boy. He works for the Baroness von Tresseur. Or he did..."

"She’s in charge of this locale?"

"Oh, aye. A fair woman, the baroness. Easy on the eyes, too, I tell you. We thought we were so lucky when our boy got a job working for her a few months back."

Only a few months. Interesting. "What about his personal life? Was he seeing anyone?"

"Our Henry? No, not unless he could be in two places at once." The innkeeper shook his head. "He never had a moment free for it, you see. Always working. A fair woman the baroness may be, but she keeps her workers busy."

So, a tryst, hidden from his parents. That could explain the bruises and scratches. Or perhaps a one night only thing, before his death. Maybe even involuntary.

"I saw, you know, what... What state Henry was in. Had to identify him, and all." The innkeeper put on a brave face. "I must know. What do you suppose could have done this, master witcher?"

"A number of things." Geralt folded his arms, searching through a mental catalog of monsters in the area. "Not all of them in the realm of a witcher's responsibility."

The innkeeper's eyes widened as he understood Geralt's meaning. "You suspect foul play? That someone..." Anger flashed across the man's face at the thought of his son being murdered rather than killed in a monster attack.

"I can't be sure yet, but I'll accept your contract, regardless of what killed your son." Geralt nodded, more to himself than to the innkeeper. He'd get to the bottom of this. "Whatever's responsible, I'll find out, you have my word."

"And I suspect you'll want payment for it up front?" The innkeeper looked wary. Despite being the one who'd placed a contract for a witcher, he was no different from anyone else who'd hired Geralt. "Your words are only worth as much as I pay you, is it?"

"I'll only accept payment after the job's done." Shrugged Geralt. He was used to such treatment. "Keeps me motivated, let's say."

"Oh, well." The man's expression softened. "I suppose not all of what they say about witchers is true, then."

"You're going to want to bury the body properly. Without the head, you have to be sure it's done right, respectfully. I'd wager you know how to bury your dead."

"You'd wager rightly." The innkeeper looked immensely tired at the mention of a funeral. "After all the fighting of late, it'd be surprising if we didn't."

"Have there been any more victims like this recently? I could learn more from a pattern."

"Now that you mention it... There have. More than one. I never paid attention before now, but..."

"Wait, before that." Geralt held up a hand. "If I'm going to investigate, I'll need a place to stay for a while. Would you be willing to lend me a room at your inn?"

"It'd have to come out of your pay..."

Distant movement caught Geralt's attention and his focus shifted to its source. A man - his colorful outfit stark against the gloomy, drizzly backdrop of the evening - approached them. "Hey!" he called, waving emphatically with one arm over his head. It was a man Geralt knew very well. Some might even say they were friends.

The innkeeper turned to see what had caught the witcher's attention. "Ah, the Baroness's bard. He's been staying at her manor as a guest for the past week or so. Jaskier, I think his name was. Nice fellow, stops in sometimes for a drink and to hear rumors. Never more than that, though. Wish he'd play at my inn for a night, to tell you the truth. Bards always bring round more business."

"Geralt!" shouted Jaskier again, even closer now. The bard was trying to move as quickly as possible while simultaneously trying to avoid slipping in mud.

Looking between the bard and the witcher, the innkeeper further asked. "You know him?"

"Unfortunately." With a sigh, Geralt moved forward to grab hold of the bard's arm just as he was about to fall, despite his best efforts to avoid it. "Hello, Jaskier."

Rather than pull away to straighten his clothes, as Geralt had expected, Jaskier did something rather _un_ expected. He took advantage of their closeness and threw himself at Geralt, arms wrapping around Geralt's neck in a full-blown hug. As if that wasn't enough, he even pressed a kiss to the side of the witcher's face.

To say the very least, Geralt was stunned.

"Hello, my darling witcher," said Jaskier, his voice dripping with the kind of false honey he usually reserved exclusively for potential suitors. "Oh, how I've missed that gorgeous face of yours."

His brain struggling to catch up to the situation, Geralt tried to pull out of the bard's grasp. "What?" he said smartly.

Jaskier didn't let go. "Shh, my _dear_ wolf, I know you have so much you want to tell me since we've seen one another." Seeing the innkeeper as if for the first time, Jaskier rounded on him, fully bringing a third party into their already awkward greeting. "My witcher is always gone on such _long_ trips, I rarely get to see him," he explained, totally unprompted. "Fate often does its best to separate us, but in the end, we always find each other again. Poetic, wouldn't you agree?"

"I, er..." stammered the innkeeper, uncomfortable at having been put on the spot.

Jaskier plowed forward with his words, unaffected by the man’s discomfort. "Would you mind lending us a room so I can speak to my _lover_ privately? I'll owe you one."

Geralt almost choked, and it had nothing to do with the bard's loving arms around his neck. "'Lover'? Jaskier, what the _hell_ -"

"Ha ha, you jester," Jaskier laughed, obnoxiously fake. Jaskier glared at Geralt, as if to say 'Shut the hell up until we're in private'. Then he leaned conspiratorially to the innkeeper, "He's shy when it comes to intimacy. Hence the need for privacy. If you would, please."

Confused beyond comprehension at the sudden turn of events and not wanting to make whatever trouble Jaskier had stirred any worse, Geralt obediently snapped his mouth shut.

"Well, I suppose..." The baffled innkeeper looked at the very odd couple in front of him. "If you'd come play at my inn, I suppose you could use the room in the back for the night. The witcher was about to ask for lodgings anyway, and the business a bard could bring in would more than pay for that..."

Was he about to ask that? At that moment, Geralt couldn't recall what he'd even been discussing before Jaskier had entered the room.

"Wonderful," answered Jaskier. He was already dragging Geralt inside - or rather he was pulling and Geralt agreed to go along, as the bard couldn't really drag someone as bulky as Geralt anywhere. "Consider it done. Any night, any time, name it. I'll perform a full set."

"Right, well... I shall hold you to your word." The innkeeper followed them into the building, dumbfounded at what had just transpired. "And... And you as well, witcher. Don't forget my contract..."

Geralt grunted and waved back even as he was all but shoved into the room, followed quickly by the troubadour who seemed more eager than ever to get away from the wandering eyes of the general public.

Then the door to the room slammed, shutting out the noise of the innkeeper and the other guests, and blissful quiet filled the short distance between them. Breathing heavily, Jaskier separated from Geralt instantly and pressed his back to the door, as if trying to block out the whole world.

Geralt stood with his arms folded, too amused to be angry at having his contract interrupted. After all, Jaskier had just earned him free lodging. "So?" he asked, nodding at the bard. "What did you do?"

"Why do you always assume it's something _I_ did?"

Geralt stared at him.

“Or that- That I’ve cuckolded someone.”

“Because you usually have cuckolded someone.”

"Not this time! All of this, it's completely not my fault." Jaskier pushed off the door and began pacing the room, unable to control his restless energy. "That _woman_ made her own assumptions, without any help from me. You cannot blame this one on me."

"Hold on a minute, Jaskier, what woman?"

"The Baroness, of course! Do try to keep up, please."

"I can't when you're getting ahead of yourself." Geralt lifted a placating hand. "Mind taking this one step at a time? Maybe backtrack to you calling us lovers?"

Jaskier inhaled deeply, then exhaled, his hands closing along with his breathing as he tried to collect himself. Geralt recognized it as an exercise the bard often did before a performance.

"Okay," said the troubadour after a moment. "I was asked, as I often am, to perform at the court of the lovely Baroness von Tresseur. I’ve never been one to pass up a stay with nobility, the offer of an easy meal and easier lovers is far too much to resist. So I agreed.”

“This I’ve heard so far. The innkeeper said, a week or so.”

“He was right. Shortly after my arrival, however, the Baroness took a _liking_ to me. I was flattered, of course, but not interested.”

“You? Not interested?”

“Don’t interrupt me.” chastised Jaskier, affronted. “I do have standards and even _I’m_ not so reckless as to risk crossing a woman like the Baroness von Tresseur. Rumors surrounding the Baroness have earned her the better known title of ‘The Praying Mantis of the North’, and I for one have made it a point in life not to court women who might eat me alive, proverbially or literally. So I politely told her I wasn’t interested. She didn’t take it well. Nobility, you know, can’t stand the word ‘No’.”

“I can relate.”

“Naturally. Unfortunately, she made the assumption that my disinterest couldn’t possibly have anything to do with her, but rather that my heart already must belong to another. A certain, ahem, witcher I sing about so often, if you follow. She came to the conclusion that the reason I’d turned her down was because… Well…” Jaskier cleared his throat and gestured discreetly at Geralt.

“She thinks you’re in love with me?”

“Yes, and if I can’t demonstrate it, I’ll be deemed a liar who’s insulted her beauty and intelligence, and you and I both know the lengths to which nobles will go to defend their pride.”

Geralt was still caught up with his previous statement. He could see why she might think so. A large chunk of Jaskier’s repertoire _was_ dedicated to the White Wolf and his many exploits. Still, to think of them as lovers? “You? In love with me?” he repeated, bewildered.

For a moment, Jaskier sounded offended. “Is that so hard to believe?” Then his tone changed to concern. “No, really, is it? My neck is on the line here if I can’t convince her. Please, Geralt, you must play along or I’m done for.”

“You could simply leave.”

“And be shunned by every court in the country? Hunted down like a common criminal by a spited Baroness with too high a sense of self worth? No, Geralt, please. This is the only way. I’m begging you.”

Geralt saw his friends desperation and sighed. He couldn’t very well leave Jaskier to his fate, and pretending to be in love with the bard wouldn’t be the _worst_ thing ever... “Fine,” was his eventual answer. "I have to remain here for a contract anyway. But _if_ I agree to this, you have to help me."

"Me?” Jaskier blinked. It wasn’t like Geralt to ask for help. “What could I possibly do?"

“I need information. You’ve been here a while, you can’t say you haven’t noticed anything.”

“Hold on... Did you accept a contract from these people? About their son?”

Geralt looked curiously at the bard. It was more than he’d expected from Jaskier. "How did you know?"

"My dear witcher, you think a bard earns his living on song alone? One hears things in court.” Jaskier hummed, hoping to impress. “If you’re searching for a pattern, look no further. I think you’ll find that all the victims have each had one vital thing in common." 

"Yes?"

Jaskier’s expression hardened, and with a tone more serious than Geralt had ever heard from him, he answered, "They’ve all courted the Baroness."


	2. One Last Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jaskier lowered his voice in explanation. "If we are to be a couple, you need to allow me to dote on you."_

They took their breakfast at the tavern.

For the sake of appearance, Jaskier had stayed the night with Geralt. It was hardly new territory for them, having spent many nights sharing a bed together in the past, but this was the first time they'd done it under the pretense that they were a couple. To solidify their charade, Jaskier had commandeered one of Geralt's spare shirts, having not brought any spare clothes of his own from the manor. Thus, there they sat at a round, wooden table, quietly waking themselves up to face the day's investigations. Each time Jaskier leaned forward, Geralt's shirt hung loosely at the bard's shoulders, exposing even more of his chest than his own tops ever managed. Excess fabric bunched up at his sides where he'd tucked it into his breeches.

"I really think a belt would complete the look," said Jaskier, waving a piece of toast around as he spoke. In his other hand, he brandished a knife with flecks of blackcurrant jam still coating it. He spread the preserves on the toast, took a bite, and continued to talk around the mouthful. "Doesn't have to be leather. Plain cloth tied at the waist would work just as well."

"You'll choke if you don't slow down." Geralt sawed at a piece of salted pork. It was rather dry, but he supposed he'd had worse.

Jaskier swallowed, washing the bread down with a swig of juice. Even for him, it was too early to drink. "I suppose we ought to discuss our plans for the day. Have you got the list of recent victims I gave you?" He popped a blueberry from a bowl of fruit into his mouth.

"Mhm," Geralt hummed around his food. "And you're sure the Baroness isn't the one killing them? She must be called the 'Praying Mantis' for a reason."

Jaskier stirred his oatmeal, tossing a few berries into it for flavor. "That title originated almost a year ago when her husband passed. Many people accused her of his death after an alchemical explosion took his life." The bard leaned in conspiratorially. "Rumor has it that the Baroness herself was the one who'd declared him dead, but whether it was really him is still being debated. It seems the late Baron's body was nearly unidentifiable when he was buried. His head was completely missing, destroyed in the accident, so they say. Hence, she's called the Praying Mantis, the woman who devours the heads of her lovers. With the latest string of deaths connected to her, it's no wonder the title stuck."

"And how much truth is behind that title?"

"How should I know? I didn't exactly ask her about it. Perhaps I should, Geralt, if only to satisfy your morbid curiosity." Jaskier took on a prim tone in his mockery. "'Excuse me, my lady, do you mind if I ask you about your husband's grim demise?' I wonder how that would go."

Geralt chuckled quietly, imagining the exchange. "How about her lovers? Surely you knew about them, since that's why you turned her down."

"Oh I knew, but not until after I'd arrived. With how irresistible I am, I never would have come here had I known prior. Damn my charms, I knew she'd fall for me, though I did try not to turn her gaze." Jaskier's own gaze landed on the rapidly depleting bowl of berries. A wonderful idea sprang to mind. "Speaking of... Here," He plucked a strawberry from the bowl and presented it to Geralt, delicately pinching the stem.

Baffled, Geralt moved to take it, only to be swatted away by the bard.

"No, no, let me feed you!" Jaskier lowered his voice in explanation. "If we are to be a couple, you need to allow me to dote on you." He pressed the strawberry insistently at Geralt's lips. "Now eat the fruit."

With a sigh, Geralt obeyed and, feeling ridiculous, he took a bite. A bit of juice dribbled down his chin. It must have been recently picked, and in season.

"How is it?" Jaskier smoothly prompted.

Geralt wasn't sure how to answer. "It's a strawberry." When Jaskier merely rolled his eyes, the witcher continued, unsure of what the poet wanted. "Er, it's sweet? Juicy?"

Jaskier lifted a hand to wipe the juice from Geralt's chin with his thumb. "Not as sweet and juicy as you are, darling," he said easily. To prove his point, he licked his thumb, tasting the juice he'd gathered there.

Geralt glared down at his breakfast, refusing to meet the bard's eyes. He'd never been happier that he couldn't blush, else this would be a long investigation. Clearly Jaskier was enjoying their charade far too much.

Jaskier laughed at the witcher's expense and bit into the remainder of Geralt's strawberry, looking pleased with himself. He knew full well the effect he'd had despite Geralt's inability to show it. "Oh, Geralt, if I'd have known it was that easy to charm you, I'd have done this ages ago."

"Jaskier-"

Then the innkeeper came over and saved Geralt from any further embarrassment. "Excuse me, Master poet," he said, hesitant to ask, but clearly determined to get an answer. "I'd wondered if you remembered our agreement yesterday?"

Seeing anyone act servile to Jaskier was always a jarring experience for Geralt, but he supposed Jaskier held his place in courts for a reason.

"I remember," nodded Jaskier, trying to look as puffed up and important as he possibly could, despite looking so small in an over-sized shirt.

Encouraged, the innkeeper continued. "Well, If you're amenable, I'd be honored if you would perform at the small feast we've arranged to honor our son."

"Ah, so that's why you've got such stores." Jaskier gestured to the rather lush meal they'd been given. For a tavern, it had seemed overly fanciful, though Jaskier had the feeling the innkeeper was trying to guilt him into making good on his promise of a performance. The famous bard _had_ only performed at court since his arrival, after all, and the general public would certainly gather to hear him play, given the opportunity. "Certainly. When is it?"

"Today. I know it's such short notice, but you did say..."

Jaskier held up a dismissive hand. "Don't fret, my good man. My witcher and I owe you a debt for room and board, and I intend to pay it. You ask that I play, and play I shall. But kindly allow me to finish my meal first."

"Of course, Master poet, of course. You've some time yet. The feast will start once guests turn up."

"I'll be here." Jaskier waved the man away, signalling that he was done with the conversation.

The innkeeper departed, and Geralt set his glass down, having been using it as an excuse not to speak. Not that he needed it. "You can be commanding when you want, can't you?" he commented, intrigued.

"It comes from experience on battlefields, trying to work honest details out of boastful soldiers can be so tedious. They won't take you seriously if you can't exert a sense of superiority over them, and we can't _all_ just rely on a witcher's physique to intimidate others." Jaskier sighed, visibly relaxing. Geralt only now noticed how tense he'd been for the whole conversation. "You should see me do it when I'm wearing bright purple silks. Then it's really impressive."

"In that case, you could have told him, 'no'," said Geralt. "I know you aren't above breaking a promise."

"And do what instead? Return to the baroness for the day? Without you?" Jaskier pushed his half-eaten oatmeal aside and leaned forward on the table. "Do you have any idea how clingy that woman is? It's only by a small miracle that I managed to get away at all last night. I'll take fresh country air over being held hostage in some manor any day, thank you." He sniffed haughtily, then with a grimace, added, "Well. As fresh as country air can be, anyway. When's the last time you bathed?"

Geralt scoffed. "It didn't bother you last night."

"It will bother the baroness when we see her. Our audience has been requested at the manor tomorrow.”

“Requested?”

“More like politely commanded. I've already given word of my prior engagement here, but she insists we accept her hospitality starting tomorrow. Clingy, you see?"

"Mhm. And after that?"

"Naturally, you’ll be staying with me at the manor. Surrounded of course by cold, stone walls that suck all the creativity out of you. A nice queen bed with feathered down quilts and lovely satin sheets is all very well, but not when I'm there against my will."

"Yeah, sounds awful." Geralt pushed away from the table to stand, picking up his last piece of sausage as he went, his plate cleared. It was a more filling meal than he was used to, and he expected only more luxuries as time went on. Like Jaskier, he wasn't sure if it would be worth the trade-off.

"Where are you going?" Jaskier stood too, following Geralt as he headed to their room at the inn. He grabbed his sleeve to stop him. "You won't stay and watch me play?"

Geralt stopped at the threshold of their rented room. "Can't," he said. "That list of families, remember? I still have a contract to fulfill. I'm not above breaking promises either, but I still like to try to keep them."

"You're not going to hear anything new from them."

"I can't be sure," Geralt sighed. "If I get back early enough, I'll hear you play."

"Wait." Jaskier tugged him back again. When Geralt faced him, the poet leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss to his cheek. "I'll save a song for you," he said. Then he turned back to finish his own abandoned meal.

Geralt pressed a hand to his cheek, momentarily stunned, before he remembered himself. Right. They were pretending to be a couple. It was only natural they would exchange such affections. He headed into the room and gathered his things for a long day of investigation.

-

Jaskier had been right.

After interviewing 12 different families on the list - the farthest one being over 20 miles from the manor - Geralt had learned that each victim'd had an identical cause of death. Headless, full of bruises and scratches, and moved shortly after their time of death. Interestingly, as Geralt had learned, not every man who'd courted the Baroness wound up dead. In fact, there were quite a few suitors that were perfectly alive and well. From this discovery, Geralt had compiled a list of yet more people he would have to interview. He wondered what set them apart from those who had fallen victim to whatever plagued the Baroness's other, ill-fated lovers.

The interviews had taken a good chunk of Geralt's day, and by the time he was finished, night had fallen, leaving him with little else to do but return to the inn for the evening.

When Geralt opened the door to the tavern part of the inn, he was greeted by a cacophony of sounds. Clapping and stomping accompanied the clattering raucous of cutlery and trays being used as instruments. The laughter and tapping footsteps of people dancing resounded joyfully throughout the room. Shockingly, the innkeeper himself was performing alongside Jaskier, a fiddle in his hands. That explained why he'd been so keen on Jaskier's performance, clearly being a musician himself.

It was such a change from earlier that morning, the stiffness and polite exchanges between the bard and the innkeeper. Now the two played together as if they'd been doing it for years. The wonders of alcohol never ceased to amaze. The song had been loud even from outside the tavern, but now Geralt could see that the building was practically bursting at the seams with music.

Even above all the noise, Jaskier's practiced voice rang out, a choir of voices joining the chorus.

_I've had a life that's full,  
Everyone's been good to me.  
So fire up that fiddle, boy,  
And give me one last drink.  
When the sun comes up,  
I will leave without a trace.  
The world was mine today._

Strings shrieked as the innkeeper dragged his bow along the fiddle. Jaskier spun women and men on the dance floor at the elbow, encouraging them to dance to the last note. It was much livelier a party than Geralt had ever imagined a feast for the dead might ever be, and he supposed the innkeeper and his wife had Jaskier to thank for celebrating their son's life rather than dwelling solely on his death.

A dissonant round of cheers and applause rang out. Given the amount of guests, it seemed the whole townships had chosen to attend the performance. Jaskier's fame wasn't all talk after all, it seemed. Geralt clapped slowly along with the rest of the crowd, showing his appreciation for what little of the song he'd heard.

The bard bowed, accepting the praise from an active audience. He was flushed with exertion from the performance with sweat trickling down his neck and the side of his face. He'd clearly been going at an even pace for quite a while, hydrated seemingly only with the plentiful amounts of local brews. Just as Geralt was considering intervening and introducing him to the restorative wonders of drinking water, not just beer, Jaskier spotted him.

"Geralt!" The bard rushed to greet him, his lute slung easily about his torso. He flung his arms about Geralt's waist and, just as he'd done that morning, planted a rather wet kiss on his cheek. "My dear, my wolf, you made it in time!" Alcohol was heavy on his breath and Geralt envied the ease with which Jaskier slung about such terms of endearment.

"Just caught the ending," said Geralt, pulling back just enough to grant some space between them. He'd been better prepared for the show of affection this time, but it still caught him off guard.

"I was _just_ about to have a break. Join me? I want to hear _everything_ you've discovered." Jaskier pulled the witcher by the hand, leading him to a relatively empty table, grabbing two pints of ale from the bar as he went. He set the mugs down and, still standing, waved to the innkeeper. "I'm taking a break," he called. "Continue without me for a while. I'm sure the people would love to hear more of that fiddle."

Another round of cheers rang out and the screech of the violin signaled the start of another song, unaccompanied by the headlining performer. The people seemed pleased all the same, too drunk to mind much anymore.

"There," said Jaskier, the dreamy quality his expression had held previously lifting to be replaced with a more serious one. "Now we shouldn't be overheard."

Geralt couldn't help but be impressed. Even he'd though Jaskier would be too drunk to discuss such matters. "I'm surprised you let him play with you." It was well known that the bard didn't take competition for the spotlight kindly.

"It's his son's funeral! Even I have a heart."

"Hmm," hummed Geralt doubtfully.

"Okay. The song needed a fiddle." Jaskier placed his arms on the table in front if him. "Now, to business. What have you learned?"

Geralt pulled out a slip of parchment, a list of names similar to the one Jaskier had provided him with that morning. "Do you know anyone on this list?" He slid the list over to the bard.

Jaskier gave the list a cursory glance. His eyebrows lifted in recognition. "Yes, actually," he said. The troubadour had always had a knack for remembering names. "All of them live and work in the manor. None of them are particularly remarkable. Why? Who are they?"

"The Baroness's lovers," Geralt took the paper back and safely tucked it away. "The ones who, for some reason, were spared."

Jaskier's eyes widened. "Really? What makes them so special, do you think?"

"Wait," Geralt held up a hand and Jaskier's jaw clicked with how quickly he stopped speaking. He subtly glanced where the witcher was looking. A man in padded armor was leaning heavily in their direction, though he was trying his best to look as if he wasn't listening. Clearly an eavesdropper.

Jaskier turned back to Geralt, a grin on his face. "Let me take care of that." Jaskier took a quick swig of ale, then, his mouth still full, placed his hand on the back of Geralt's head, leaned forward, and without further preamble or warning, kissed him.

It wasn't the magical experience that most first kisses were supposed to be. For one thing, it was an awful way to share a drink. The taste of beer mingled thickly between them, and were he not a witcher, Geralt would have choked on it. For the second time that day, Geralt wondered if Jaskier wasn't simply taking advantage of the situation in order to embarrass a normally unflappable witcher.

Then Jaskier pulled away with a breath and wiped a trickle of beer that hid slipped between his lips. "Sorry," he sighed, not looking sorry. "That man over there is part of the Baroness's personal guard." He spared a glance at their eavesdropper again, only to find he'd leaned as far away from them as possible, thoroughly uncomfortable at spying on two men making out. Jaskier barked out a laugh. "Ha! Look how red he is."

Geralt's mouth finally caught up with his brain. "Did you really need to bring ale into that?" he hissed.

The troubadour feigned offense, but displayed genuine confusion. "I thought ale might make it more palatable for you." Jaskier was unmoved by their kiss, pushing the conversation as though nothing had happened. "Anyway, you were saying?"

"Never mind." In truth, Geralt had forgotten what he'd been saying the moment Jaskier had decided to _lock lips_ with him. He drained his mug, desperately feeling he needed the alcohol. "I need to get this armor off, store this list somewhere safe..." He stood, pushing his chair aside where it belonged.

"Aw, it wasn't that bad a kiss, was it?" Jaskier teased, then, lowering his voice, he added. "You're not mad, are you?"

Geralt sighed. For all the emotions he'd felt about what just happened, he found that anger wasn't among them. "No, I'm not mad. Just warn me next time." He turned to leave, but paused. Then turned back for a moment to add, "And yes, Jaskier. It _was_ that bad." Then he headed for their shared room to put his things away.

Before Jaskier could chase after him in defense of his pride as a lover, he was being called over by the innkeeper, the crowd eager for yet another performance.

-

Geralt sat heavily on the bed, a gloved hand pressed to his forehead. Honestly, the bard could be so unpredictable at times, it was difficult for any sane man to handle. He was trying not to think of what had happened. A first kiss was something most couples - fake or not - considered rather important, and for some reason, it bothered Geralt that Jaskier could be so flippant about it. But perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised at all. After all, with how many lovers Jaskier had gone through in his life, the novelty of a first kiss must have worn off. Sure, Geralt slept around almost as much, but that level of intimacy was reserved for only a select few people.

He ran his hand down his face, lifting his head. Maybe he should just follow the bard's example. The gesture hadn't meant anything, anyway. It had merely been an effective cover for their conversation. Spur of the moment, nothing more. Meaningless.

Geralt put the thought from his mind.

Right. Armor.

With practiced moves, the witcher easily unbuckled himself, peeling away layers of defense for the sake of comfort. He placed his swords beside the leather, propping them up against a chair, which sat only slightly apart from the room's provided writing desk. It was the only other thing in there apart from the bed.

Scrolls of parchment caught the witcher's eye, stretched out for the ink to dry. On one page, was a ballad, completely in Elder, the language of the elves. It was well-known to anyone who'd studied the language. A sad song, about a doomed couple, the two suffering an unfortunate, premature death. On the page beside it was Jaskier's handwriting. They were the lyrics again, by the look of it, only this time written in the common tongue, written for the general public to enjoy. Beside it were compositions adapting the instrumentation of the song to suit the lute inste.

It was a hobby of the poet's, to try and help humans understand elven culture better through song. He insisted that the stories were too beautiful to be lost with the elves, as the likelihood of their extinction became more and more realistic.

Geralt tucked his interrogation list away with the parchment, knowing it would be safe among Jaskier's papers and belongings. Then he finished changing, and headed back into the tavern.

The room had settled significantly since Geralt had departed. Many people had left for the night, happily full, their wishes fully paid in respect of the dead. The innkeeper sat with his wife, the two in quiet conversation, clearly grieving for their son in a shared moment of peace. The remaining guests either talked quietly among themselves or were turned to face Jaskier as he sat on a stool by the bar, his lute in his lap as he plucked at the strings.

And when the poet sang, Geralt recognized the lyrics to be the translations he'd found in their room.

_Not till the dawn he heard it,  
His face grew grey to hear  
How Bess the landlord's daughter,  
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,  
Had watched for her love in the moonlight,  
And died in the darkness there. ___

____

_And back he spurred like a madman,  
Shrieking a curse to the sky!  
With the white road smoking behind him,  
And his rapier brandished high!  
Blood-red were the spurs in the golden noon,  
Wine-red was his velvet coat.  
When they shot him down in the highway,  
Down like a dog on the highway,  
And he lay in his blood in the highway,  
With a bunch of lace at his throat._

____

Geralt moved to get a better view of the poet and his melancholy song. He would never say it, but he found Jaskier's voice to be the most beautiful when he sang about things with meaning, like love or loss. In this case, it was both. The witcher leaned against a structural wooden beam, supporting his weight easily, as it did for the building around them.

____

_Still on a winter's night they say,  
When the wind is in the trees,  
When the moon is a ghostly galleon  
Tossed upon the cloudy seas.  
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight  
Over the purple moor,  
A highwayman comes riding,  
Riding, riding,  
A highwayman comes riding  
Up to the old inn door._

____

Jaskier delicately plucked out the final somber melody, the performance leaving sorrow and mysticism in its wake. Applause seemed inappropriate, the mood so separated from the joyful cheers Geralt had heard earlier. The song's entrancing tune hung in the air, instilling the room with a gentle calm that would be blasphemous to break with the clapping of hands.

____

All the same, Jaskier bowed and tucked his lute away, knowing already the effect of his performance.

____

"Why don't you perform like that more often?" Geralt asked quietly, walking over to the bar.

____

Jaskier scoffed, "You can see what it does to people." He gestured at the crowd around them. One of the remaining guests wept silently at the bar, clearly deep in the bottle, and deep in his thoughts. The songs of the Elder Blood usually had that kind of effect. "The common folk want rowdy and upbeat. I only played this for you. I said I'd save you a song." He paused, thoughtful. Clearly he knew Geralt hadn't been there for the full piece. "That and I needed a closer."

____

"I'm flattered. Shame I didn't hear it in full." Geralt lifted a pint to his mouth, helping himself to whatever food was left from the feast.

____

"Listen," Jaskier adjusted the rings on his hands, twisting them. "I want to give you one of these." He slid one of the rings off his finger. Silver and blue, a gleaming pearl adorning it, similar to the one the both of them had once gifted Essi Daven. Though they both knew that particular pearl was long buried. Jaskier had personally seen to that.

____

"A ring? For what?" Geralt pulled his beer away, leaving himself with foam on his upper lip. He wiped it casually with his sleeve. He gave the room a quick glance to ensure no one was listening. He didn't want a repeat of their kiss from before. "Are you talking about our arrangement?"

____

Jaskier smiled softly. "No," he said. "I've just been thinking, lately... Destiny is so unkind to you. What if, after this, fate decided it wouldn't bring us together again? I'd be terribly disappointed if I left you with nothing to remember me by. It's just jewelry, of course, but I thought, maybe..." Then he laughed, and to Geralt, it somehow seemed sad. "Never mind," he said. "I suppose my own performance has affected my mood. I've become maudlin. Or perhaps it's because of the beer. Forget I said anything." He started to slip the ring back on.

____

"No," Geralt said, placing a hand on Jaskier's to stop him. He didn't want to forget about it. Jaskier had a point. It was only by destiny's hand that he and the bard continued to meet, even after months, sometimes years apart. And even if they did meet, time and again, if he didn't die on the path, eventually his own longevity would drive them apart. He'd treasure something that might ease that inevitable break. "I'll take it, if you want to give it to me."

____

Jaskier slid the ring off again. He handed it to Geralt, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt our situation, either, sharing jewelry as well as clothes," he said, and when he smiled again he seemed to be his usual self again. "Now mind you, it might be too small. You'd need to get it refitted before you could even wear it. Unless..." He tapped Geralt's medallion. "Would this still function with something else on the chain?"

____

Geralt took the ring and, after a moment of adjusting the chain's clasp, he slid the ring onto it where it clinked softly against the wolf head at Geralt's chest. He grasped the two objects that hung around his neck and felt the cool silver of Jaskier's ring pressed against the medallion's enchanted metal. Symbolically, it was as if Jaskier was just as important. To Geralt, he was.

____

"Thank you, Jaskier," said Geralt, determined to find something soon. Perhaps nothing as lavish as a ring, but... Something. "I _will_ return the favor."

____

Jaskier laughed. "Of course, if you want, I wouldn't say no, but..." The poet smiled. "I think you already have."

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how many performances can jaskier give in a single fic before it becomes obnoxious and excessive
> 
> the two songs featured in this chapter are One Last Drink by Enter the Haggis and The Highwayman by Loreena McKennitt (changed from Annachie Gordon because The Highwayman suits this story better)


	3. Fret Not, Dear Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was the day after the feast at the inn. After waking up early, upon Jaskier's insistence that the Baroness von Tresseur wasn't one to be trifled with, they reported to promptly to her manor. They had been invited to breakfast with her ladyship, and were now just washing up to make themselves presentable enough for nobles of the court. Geralt personally would have preferred to wait until after their meal. All the stress from his current situation was doing nothing for his appetite._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems every writer in this fandom inevitably writes a bath scene at some point in their lives. Here's mine.

It was the day after the feast at the inn. After waking up early, upon Jaskier's insistence that the Baroness von Tresseur wasn't one to be trifled with, they reported to promptly to her manor. They had been invited to breakfast with her ladyship, and were now just washing up to make themselves presentable enough for nobles of the court. Geralt personally would have preferred to wait until after their meal. All the stress from his current situation was doing nothing for his appetite.

"Do you remember what I said before?" Jaskier was saying as he ran soapy hands through Geralt's hair. "About allowing me to dote on you? You really must. You've seen me with lovers, you should know I simply cannot help myself. Taking care of you, when usually it's the opposite, brings me great pleasure. I enjoy it, really I do."

Geralt was silent.

Jaskier continued talking, undeterred by the quiet as always. He lathered more soap into the lovely white strands between his fingers. "My beloved, my wolf, my darling, these are the things I will call you. You would do well to adjust to it. I may kiss you at times, flirt, tease, and do all that I can to knock the breath from your lips with my charms, but it's all for the sake of our charade, you understand. You can't be cross with me."

Again, Geralt remained silent. His whole body was tense despite the soothing warm water lapping against his bare skin. Normally, he enjoyed baths but this... It was too much.

"So I fail to see why you should be acting any differently now," continued the bard. He took a wooden basin from the rim of the luxurious bath and gathered up water in it. "Especially when I've helped you bathe before..."

Geralt could take no more. "You weren't in the bath _with_ me before!" he snarled.

Jaskier frowned from where he knelt beside Geralt in the tub, just as nude as Geralt, and close as they'd ever been. "You know, I'm not seeing the problem." His bare hip - and other things near the area - was pressed against Geralt's side as he leaned over to better clean the witcher's hair.

Geralt's silence hadn't been due to discomfort, far from it. It had been taking all his concentration not to react bodily to Jaskier's evident closeness. "Of course not..." said Geralt, teeth gritted as he took more willpower to calm himself than he'd ever had to do in a fight.

"You're overreacting." Jaskier dumped the basin of water over the witcher's head, using a hand to help ease the suds out of it. "As I have been saying, we're _lovers_ now, Geralt. It would be odd indeed if we didn't take any chance to be together sans clothing, wouldn't it? And we couldn't ask for a better excuse for privacy. We won't get much of that once we've met the Baroness. At least, I won't. Oh, do promise me you'll be on your best behavior in court. I don't want a repeat of last time, when we were chased out..."

"We were only chased out because _you_ thought it would be a good idea to sleep with a Duke's firstborn son."

"I slept with his second born, too! Anyway, semantics. Here," Jaskier passed Geralt a rag and a bar of soap. It had flecks of lavender in it. "Your turn. Help me get my back."

Geralt took it, relieved that Jaskier had turned his attentions elsewhere for the time being. He set about lathering the rag with the soap, hoping to get it to a proper foam. He was struggling to decide which was worse, the bard's self-absorbed nature, with how much attention he devoted to himself and his own appearance - or the way he could wholly dedicate that same attention to anyone he cared for as much as himself. Indecisive, Geralt tucked the thought aside for later and gently, ran the rag down the bard's spine.

Jaskier gasped and his back curved beautifully as he arched away from the light touch of the cloth. "Mind what you're doing!" chided the bard. Agitated, he turned back to peek at Geralt through his periphery. "My back is very sensitive."

With a nod and a hum, Geralt filed that information away in a rapidly growing pile of things concerning Jaskier that he would need to sort through later.

Jaskier splashed lightly at the water in front of him. Humming a tune, his fingers danced through the water above his lap, a quiet underwater concert as even now he idly practiced rhythms and chords. The motion caught Geralt's eye at first, but then his gaze wandered further, as much as his position would allow. Jaskier caught him looking. "Really, is my nudity that distracting?" he said, a small smirk playing at his lips.

_Yes,_ is what Geralt thought. "No," is what Geralt said. "Your humming is."

Jaskier turned away again, facing forward so that Geralt could no longer see his face or expression. All the better for now, if the witcher was being honest.

"I was thinking of terms of endearment," said the bard. "For our false relationship. Is there any that you prefer? I told you all the ones I've used for you so far, but aside from 'my wolf' and 'darling witcher' they all seem rather generic."

"They're not very creative of you, either. Witcher isn't a pet name," corrected Geralt. "And even Vesemir calls me wolf."

"Really? Does he?" asked Jaskier with intrigue. Geralt lightly ran the rag against Jaskier's back to make him arch again, writhing away. He got the point. "Okay, okay. _Touchy,_ " he said. "What about you?"

"What _about_ me?"

"Have you got any names you'd like to call me?"

Geralt smirked. "Oh, I could think of a few."

"You know what I mean," hissed Jaskier.

"Pass me the basin, _my love_."

Jaskier shuddered, and it wasn't in pleasure. "Oh no, don't do that," he said. "It sounds so unnatural when you say it. Creepy, even." He grabbed the basin and passed it to Geralt. "Never mind. We'll just stick to the usual. Perhaps simply 'poet' or even 'dearest poet'..."

Geralt filled the basin with water and dumped it on Jaskier's back, earning himself a nice little glimpse at how droplets of water gathered in the dip of the bard's spine. "I could call you Julian?" proffered Geralt.

"You could," said Jaskier. "But then I would have to leave you, and what a shame _that_ would be."

Geralt frowned. Certainly, he'd never heard Jaskier use the name himself, save for in full, as a ways of introduction, but he hadn't suspected to hear such distaste, "If you'll indulge my curiosity," he said carefully. "Why don't you like your name?"

Jaskier turned to face the witcher in the bath again. A rare sight for Geralt to see, the bard's face was unreadable. "I have about as much association with the name Julian as you do with the country of Rivia, which is to say none, save for name and title," he explained, and there was a shard of ice in his voice as he spoke. "I don't dislike it, but I'm simply not that person anymore. Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, was disowned by his father and left to fend for himself, name and title holding no worth nor weight behind it. He was, for all intents and purposes, a nobody who meant nothing to anyone. Jaskier, on the other hand, is a self-made man, famous and well loved by many. A great and world-renowned troubadour, it is Jaskier's poetry and song, not Julian's, which will flood the Continent for centuries to come. _That_ is who I am and _that_ is how I wish to be addressed. Do you understand, Geralt?"

Geralt knew he'd touched a nerve. "Thoroughly," he said, and chose not to speak further on the topic.

It had been some time ago that Geralt realized that despite how much Jaskier talked, he rarely ever _said_ anything. For all that Jaskier knew of the witcher's life - sung about it, wrote about it - much of Jaskier's past had only been revealed in scarce tidbits, unprompted anecdotes whenever he'd had too much wine. Geralt supposed that some people must prefer to tell the stories of other people rather than their own - or in Jaskier's case perhaps, go out and create a new one.

Jaskier's voice cut into his thoughts. He had a hand on his chin and looked contemplative. "You could call me Jask, maybe?" he suggested. The bard clearly had gotten back on topic without him.

"'Jask'?" repeated Geralt, baffled.

"Certainly. You shortened Yennefer's name to Yen, did you not? It only makes sense you might do something similar for me."

"Jask..." Geralt tried it out, feeling the nickname in his mouth. "And you would be alright with that?"

"Why not? I use it myself sometimes, whenever I need a little confidence boost."

Geralt was about to ask something pertaining to Jaskier's habit of referring to himself in the third person when he heard the footsteps out in the hall. Coming instantly to alertness, he tilted his head and strained his hearing. Whoever it was, they were heading very quickly in the direction of their room

Without warning, Geralt pulled Jaskier close, the bard nearly falling into his lap on his way. Jaskier caught himself on the rim of the tub, his other arm wedged between their chests even as Geralt pressed him closer, a broad hand on Jaskier's back.

"G-Geralt?" asked Jaskier, stunned. Unlike Geralt, he lacked a witcher's keen hearing. Still, he trusted Geralt completely. He didn't try to pull away.

Geralt could hear the footsteps coming closer. They were just outside the door.

Geralt breathed a quiet instruction. "Quickly," he said. "Pretend we're having sex."

" _What? _" hissed Jaskier. Then, before Geralt could illuminate Jaskier on his plan any further, a knock on the door provided all the explanation the troubadour needed.__

__Ever the actor, he immediately fell into his role._ _

__The guard who had knocked at the door had clearly not anticipated what he might see in a room belonging to two men. Unfortunately, his lack of foresight had him walking right in on them. "Begging your pardon, sirs. The baroness asks that you- Whoa!" He stopped walking so fast it looked as though he was suffering from whiplash._ _

__"Oh, fuuck. Geralt," moaned Jaskier, in the most lustful voice he'd ever managed. It must have been very convincing, as the guard was struck dumb where he stood._ _

__If the witcher didn't know Jaskier as well as he did, he might have thought the bard was being too dramatic in his performance. As it was, he thought better of it and decided that no, actually, that must have been exactly how he might sound in bed. Geralt mustered every bit of training he'd learned to set his face to hardened stone before facing the guard, eyes yellow and glaring, daring the man to ask that they stop._ _

__The guard had been given a message to deliver, but he was suddenly feeling that facing the baroness's anger might be better than facing that of a witcher's. "I, er..." he started bravely. He didn't get far._ _

__Geralt grimaced, a full flash of teeth twisting his figures into something ugly and cruel, and he growled low and dangerous, "Get. Out."_ _

__The guard didn't need to be told twice. "I-I'll come back later!"_ _

__As the poor man scrambled back towards the door, Jaskier took the opportunity to turn back towards him, for better projection. "Oh, yes!" he shouted after the guard, cupping his mouth for more volume. "Yes! Fuck me harder, Geralt!"_ _

__Although it was entirely false, Geralt filed those words away into that pile to organize later as well. Then he pushed Jaskier gently back just enough to give some space between the awkward position he'd pulled them into. The poet was flushed from the heat of the bath and the exertion of containing his laughter. He shook with the effort of it. Geralt filed the imagery of _that_ away, too._ _

__The door shut heavily behind the guard, and Geralt could hear the poor man as he scurried away as fast as he could. They both waited a moment for him to get out of earshot. Then they exchanged glances and neither of them could hold it in any longer._ _

__They burst into laughter._ _

__Jaskier broke it first with a snort, then a cavalcade of snickers followed as he slipped off Geralt's laugh with ease and leaned back against the opposite end of the tub, leaning heavily back as he descended into a proper fit._ _

__Geralt was there right along with him, leaning back and chuckling. Though not nearly as unrestrained as Jaskier, it was certainly more so than usual. He never laughed as much as when he was with Jaskier._ _

__"Oh, do it-" Jaskier gasped to speak around every chortle. He waved a hand desperately at Geralt. "Do it again. What you did before."_ _

__Thoroughly amused and hoping to provide further amusement, Geralt obliged. He fixed his expression back into the stony cold glare he'd given the guard. With the ferocity his eyes held, accompanied by such fearsome features, even the strongest man might have fled in terror, just as the guard had._ _

__For Jaskier, however, it only made him laugh harder._ _

__"'Get out'," Jaskier mocked in his best Geralt voice, then covered his mouth as laughter bubbled up from his throat and a fit of giggles overtook him once more. Then his foot slipped in the tub and he slid down far enough to earn himself a mouthful of bathwater. He sputtered and coughed against it, but rather than change his mood, the fact that he was now choking only seemed to make things even funnier. He righted himself quickly and leaned over the rim of the tub, laughing even still through his coughs._ _

__It took them several moments more to fully calm down. Jaskier's cheeks hurt from smiling, and his voice was hoarse from coughing. A perfect disguise for when they'd greet the Baroness later. A hoarse voice would be the perfect example of the fun they'd just supposedly had. He laughed again, but cleared his throat to halt it in its tracks before he fell prey to the infectiousness of comedy once again._ _

__"I'm getting out now," the bard declared finally, "Before I drown."_ _

__At this Geralt laughed anew, leaning back. Jaskier swung a leg over the rim of the tub and Geralt pointedly did not watch him as he did. Rather than follow suit, the witcher leaned back, selfishly hogging the whole tub now that he was alone._ _

__"You should get out, too," said Jaskier. "It'll be cold by now." They really had been bathing a long time. It was no wonder a guard had sent for them. The bard wrapped a towel about his waist, using another to dry thick, brown hair. He set it around his shoulders when he'd finished._ _

__Geralt made a Sign and, in a wave, promptly heated the water again with a shot of of Igni._ _

__Jaskier snorted. "Show off," he said, but he smiled all the same. Thoughtfully, he turned to a nearby vanity, oils and herbs lining the top of it, much like the kind Geralt would always see Yennefer use. Just as he loved to watch the routine she would indulge in daily, he looked on, mesmerized by the slow, almost ritualistic movements Jaskier made as he mixed together different ingredients._ _

__"What's that?" the witcher asked lazily, leaning his arms up against the rim of the tub for a better view of what Jaskier was doing. Unlike Yennefer, however, the bard was happy to explain._ _

__"My own recipe." Jaskier held a completed vial aloft. "Rosemary and mint mixed with olive oil and licorice. To condition the hair."_ _

__That must have been why it always looked so soft. Maybe during their stay, he might finally get to touch it- Geralt stopped himself from following that line of thought. Sort through later. Later. For now he would content himself with simply watching as Jaskier applied the concoction to his dark, lovely hair._ _

__"So, how are we to dress for this?" asked Geralt, rationality slowly returning now that the bard had finally vacated the tub. "If you try to make me wear a doublet again I'm letting her keep your head."_ _

__"Oh, come now, dear heart, you know that I-" Jaskier stopped mid-sentence, distracted by what he'd said. "Oh. Oh, yes. 'Dear heart', I think I'll keep that. That will work very nicely..."_ _

__He fell silent for a moment, distracted by whatever thoughts the term had invoked. Geralt had seen him do as such before in their many travels together. The bard often fell into moments like this when he would write or compose. He looked so pensive, Geralt was almost sorry to interrupt him. Almost._ _

__"Jaskier?" Geralt prompted, trying to bring his attention back to their conversation. He tried again when he got no response. " _Jask_."_ _

__"Hm?" the bard asked. "What?"_ _

__"The doublet?"_ _

__"Oh, yes, clothes! No, no doublets this time." The bard seemed to remember himself, and in no time once more back on track. He returned to what he'd been doing. The remnants of oil in hand, he came to the tub to work the mixture into Geralt's hair as well._ _

__Warily, Geralt asked, "Then what _did_ you have in mind?"_ _

__Jaskier smiled. "Fret not, dear heart," he said, fully adopting the name. "I think you'll be very pleased with the ensemble I've selected for you..."_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today I learned that shampoo wasn't invented until the 1930s. I also learned how to make lye soap, which is what they're using! Lastly I learned people in the medieval period would sometimes soften their hair with bacon fat.
> 
> By the way, if you want to see WIPs or just hear me talk about geraskier ideas, hit me up on twitter. I'm @reiqenarataka there as well!
> 
> Next chapter, we finally meet the Baroness.


End file.
